


lilacs and spring rain

by lifeincantos



Series: falls the shadow [1]
Category: PIERCE Tamora - Works, Protector of the Small - Tamora Pierce, Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Gen, mention of off-stage minor character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-09
Updated: 2015-01-09
Packaged: 2018-03-06 21:11:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3148673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lifeincantos/pseuds/lifeincantos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Few were untouched by the tragedy of the Immortals War.</p>
            </blockquote>





	lilacs and spring rain

There are always,  _always_ , books. 

For all the time he spends being shuffled around from place to place, Nealan of Queenscove’s collection of tomes has grown enough in his fourteen years of life that no matter what dwelling he occupies, it is always full of books. A good number of them are open now, on the desk in his room in the family home- enough that the wood grain is barely visible beneath the collection of well worn pages. 

That is where Neal sits, thoroughly engrossed in three different volumes. A furrow has been deepening between his brows for the past quarter hour, and every few seconds a glow sparkles at his fingertips, casting an emerald shadow over the table and everything on it. Once or twice he nearly smiles, but it is swallowed almost immediately by grim determination that somehow manages to make him look younger rather than older. 

He does not flinch when a sharp  _rap_  at the door interrupts the near-silence, though his brow does wrinkle a little deeper. At the second, teeth sink into his bottom lip. At the third he can no longer ignore whoever requests entry.

"In a minute," he says.

"Neal."

"That  _wasn’t_  a  _minute_.” 

"Need I remind you that I can drop you out the window if you don’t open up?" 

He sighs, a rattling one too old for a fourteen year old face, and pushes away from his work. On the other side of the door, Willis is leaning just casually enough- grinning  _just_  widely enough- that Neal well and truly almost takes a swing. But he knows it would be a wasted effort and the irritation passes quickly enough with nothing to sustain it.

"I would invite you  _in_  but-“

Neal doesn’t bother finishing the sentence; his brother is already picking his way through the mess of books, looking too amused for Neal’s souring mood. Willis’ laugh nearly does him in.

"You know it’s  _rude_  to interrupt someone’s-“

"What, scholarly efforts? So sorry, I forgot I was in the presence of a black robe mage."

"Not-!"

“ _Neal_.” Willis’ amusement fades into warmth over the span of one word, and Neal withers as the fumes of his frustration vanish like so much smoke from a candle. “Sit with me?” 

Willis has already settled himself on the bed; Neal follows suit, pushing himself up to line up with his older brother even though it means sacrificing having his feet touch the floor. For a few moments silence blooms, Neal studiously looking at a suddenly fascinating spot on the floor, Willis examining his profile.

"Must have been something fascinating, for you to be this cross with me."

"I’m not-…" Neal stops himself this time, the weight of Willis’ expectant gaze making him flush. "I’m not _cross_  with you.”

"Oh, so what is it they’re calling it these days?" 

“ _Why_  are you here?” 

Neal hadn’t needed to ask. For a second he fears that the silence will sustain, pointing out his obvious error. But Willis does not let it and Neal’s already distracted before he can feel the swell of relief.

"What, am I not allowed to bid my darling little brother a fond farewell?"

Neal snorts at that, lips quirking to the side despite his best efforts at maintaining a stony façade. 

"You’re so  _dramatic_ ,” he whines, kicking one leg against the edge of the bed. When Willis laughs, Neal fights the smile that threatens to unfurl across his mouth. 

"Oh  _that’s rich_ , coming from you.” 

"Oi, I thought this was supposed to be a fond farewell."

It’s the wrong thing to say, and the dizzying weight of what that means hits like a lightning flash. Neal’s fingers curl towards his palm, heart jumping into his throat. For no good reason, no  _real_  reason- it’s such a childish reaction that he feels all of a child himself. He had not yet turned to look at his brother properly, but now he can’t, he is stone; fixed in one spot as a deep, crimson blush steadily crawls up the back of his neck.

"Neal."

There is no joke in Willis’ voice. Neal grips the bedsheets until his knuckles turn pearly white.

"Neal, can you please look at-"

"Hold on."

Neal’s off the bed in a flurry of wheeling limbs, a bit too newly-long and gangly for his coordination to have caught up yet. He hops forward, regaining balance by the time he reaches the desk. The trip back to the bed is less eventful; without a word, he offers a bundles of flowers as he stares fixedly at the wall.

"…  _What_  in Mithros’ name is this?”

"-Ma’ says they’re good luck."

"… You do know favors are for  _tournaments_ , right?”

"I know that-!" Indignity is a scarlet brand across the bridge of his nose and for the first time he meets Willis’ solid, green-eyed gaze. "I’m not- I know- look, these are spelled, alright?"

"-Oh?" Willis sounds genuinely surprised. 

“ _Yes_.  _Dummy_. It’s for… it’s stupid, I  _know_ \- but it has some healing and protective charms-…”

"Thank you."

With gentle fingers, gentler than the rough callouses decorating them suggest, Willis accepts the tangle of blossoms- Wisteria, Yarrow, Peony, Daffodil- and holds them delicately. Neal lapses into silence, now caught in the sight of his brother, unable to look away- to fill the void with words, good words,  _any_  words- 

When they are interrupted by another knock, Neal knows only relief. With the moment shattered, he’s able to look away, to watch when the opening door reveals a figure cut impressively-  _impossibly_ \- tall, broad, unyielding.

"I’ll be down in a moment," Willis says quickly, voice curiously light as he addresses the third and eldest Queenscove brother. Momentarily ignoring him, Graeme scans the room, nodding once each to the pair of them. 

"Nealan," he says quietly by way of greeting. When Neal tries to reciprocate his brother’s name is lost on his tongue. Graeme does not seem to notice, or mind if he does.

"Willis, we have to leave now."

"I’m aware, I just need a little while more."

"Willis."

"A  _moment_.”

They share a look and for a moment, Graeme seems about to insist. Instead he relents, letting the door swing closed behind him. Neal stares wide-eyed up at Willis, who glances back with a glimmer of good humor swimming in his eyes.

"How d’you  _do_  that?” Neal asks in one exhale.

"Do what?"

"That- make him go away. He’s older than you! It never works on you when  _I_  try.” 

Willis laughs and tousles Neal’s hair in a movement too quick to block, much to Neal’s dismay.

"Tell you what," Willis says, standing. "I’ll teach you when I come back home. Is that acceptable?" 

"So you mean  _never_.” 

Willis laughs again, but this time Neal allows himself the ghost of a smile as the knot in his chest starts to unclench. Just enough to take a breath that doesn’t hurt.

"I mean in another year or two. By then, maybe you’ll be ready to learn."

"Hey-!"

"Now, back to your books. They’re probably lonely, this long without you." 

"Oh, go off and earn your songs and get written into history already." 

"Ah yes, can’t put off the eternal glory for too long." He laughs once more, then places a hand on Neal’s shoulder. For all that it is there for a moment and a light one at that, Neal still feels he might buckle under the weight. "Don’t be too much of a brat while we’re gone."

He wants to protest, but more than that he wants to ask why.  _Why_  must they leave, when Willis’ shield is still wet from being painted, when Neal is not yet old enough to have a proper conversation with the shadow that is Graeme?

Why there has to be a war. 

But he knows why, or well enough to understand that the question is useless. So he doesn’t ask, doesn’t protest. Just draws himself up straight as an arrow, chest puffed out, arms crossed against it. 

"You won’t even recognize me. I’ll be the talk of Tortall. My accomplishments at the university will outshine your blood slaughter."

"I look forward to hearing the tales." Willis smiles, crosses to the door, steps over the threshold. "-I’ll see you soon."

Neal does not say goodbye. Time will move fast enough- they’ll be home before Neal has time to write to them. Until then, he doesn’t mind waiting.

(They don’t come home.)


End file.
